Agriculture remains the backbone of sustenance for the Naga people and the same is true of developed societies but they rely on modern cultivation systems using technology.
For generations, agriculture has been more than an occupation for the Naga people. It has been the very heartbeat of our existence. Every Naga tribe, in one form or another, has been rooted in the soil. This truth is written in our festivals, nearly all of which are woven around the cycles of sowing and harvest. These celebrations were never mere rituals, but they were a collective acknowledgement that farming bound our communities together. In the olden days, each village lived within its own territory, isolated by fear of the enemy. This forced every village to become a self-sustaining island, hardly needing anything from outsiders. Astonishingly, each village survived not just for years, but for centuries, often without friendly contact with neighbours. That rugged self-reliance, born not from genius but from hard work and persistence, became our most powerful weapon in times of hostility. A full granary was the true measure of wealth. Respect came from tilling vast fields. The wealthy did not hoard, but they hosted ‘Feasts of Merit,’ inviting the entire village to share in their abundance for days.
Today, farming is wrongly seen as a poor person’s occupation, especially after the introduction of the monetary system. People chase easy money rather than tending the land. The ancient knowledge of seasonal cultivation and the sacred preservation of indigenous seed grains, passed down for generations, is vanishing before our eyes. We must recognise a deeper shift. In the old barter-based agricultural economy, wealth was visible and shared. When a farmer prospered, the whole village ate from his granary in one way or another. The Feast of Merit was not charity, but it was the very expression of what it meant to be wealthy, i.e., to give, to host, to bind the community closer. But the cash economy has rewritten that moral code. Today, money is hidden in banks, not displayed in shared feasts. People have become more materialistic and individualistic. The gap between the haves and have-nots is widening day by day, because in a monetary economy, let alone sharing one's wealth, the selfish motive to earn and gain more, even though immoral means, has increased. The wealthy rarely feel obligated to their neighbours. In this loss, we have all become poorer, not in grain, but in dignity and solidarity.
Some argue that as modernity and Western influences enter Naga society, we should abandon farming and rush toward cash-based livelihoods. However, we must consider that even the most modernised Western nations have not abandoned agriculture. They have mechanised and refined it, proving a universal truth that no matter how ‘developed’ a society claims to be, agriculture remains the backbone of its sustenance. A mature society knows that globalisation and new professions must never erase the plough. Agriculture must be prioritised and fully supported. Instead of abandoning farming or looking down on agriculturalists as low-profile or poor, the concerned government or authority should enhance mechanisms and technology to help our people cope with modern cultivation systems by providing better tools, irrigation, training, and market access.
Yet today, the Naga society, which was once agriculturally centric and self-sustaining, cannot even feed itself at a basic level. Almost every essential commodity is imported from outside, even though we can demonstrably produce them ourselves. This dependency not only kills our local economy but also harms our health as imported goods are industrial, processed, and chemical-laden, while our traditional farming uses barely any fertiliser. As a direct result, our people are increasingly exposed to chronic ailments such as digestive disorders, hormonal imbalances, and other pollution-driven diseases, leading to a noticeably lower life expectancy than our ancestors enjoyed. Sadly, even our remaining farmers now rely on processed, chemicalised seed grains from outside, abandoning our own organic, local seed grains. Consequently, agricultural losses rise drastically every year.
We need to speak a harder truth. Our ancestors taught us, across centuries, that we are self-reliant and self-sustaining. Alas! A slow but steady push toward dependency on external seed grains, external goods, and external markets is increasing drastically. Whether by design or consequence, this shift has served to transform us from a proud, self-sufficient economy into a fragile, reliant one. Under the convenient claim that we cannot manage our own sustenance, our collective autonomy has been quietly held in check. Our loss of seed grains is not just an agricultural failure, but it has become a silent instrument of pressure against our people. Imagine a sudden political upheaval where blockades come or borders close. Would we survive even a few days? We have no stockpile of our own produce. We cannot rely on outside sources. More painfully, we have allowed ourselves to be belittled. Step by step, we have been led to forget who we are. If we had re-imbibed in our consciousness that we are an economy of self-reliance, rooted in generations of courage, our struggle to free ourselves from these clutches would be far easier and far more realistic.
It is time to return to our fields not as a nostalgic gesture but as an act of liberation. It is time to reclaim our age-old knowledge of seed grains, seasons, and soil. It is time to make farming honourable again. Let us rebuild our granaries. Let us become, once more, a people who need not beg for bread from outside sources. No modern convenience is worth the loss of our dignity. The Nagas must again be a self-sustaining society. Our ancestors proved it for thousands of years. Now it is our turn.
Thsachopa TS